Chapter Four: Chasing the Shadows of Chaos

The old man hidden in the shadows did not speak; he stood quietly like a statue, his eerie jade-green eyes scrutinizing the youth before him. After a long silence, he withdrew his gaze and uttered in a low, gravelly voice, “Ignati... what a nostalgic name. State your purpose, young scion of glory. For the sake of the noble blood we share, I shall answer your questions—if I am able.”

Almost as he spoke, the flame atop the kerosene lamp suddenly flared to life, leaping upward and illuminating the cramped, damp, dilapidated hut with warm and gentle light in the blink of an eye.

Though his emotions remained steady, Amy was nevertheless astonished by what had just occurred—the aged traveler who explored the darkness had merely rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, and the flame, symbolizing light, burst forth at his fingertips. Nourished by the lamp’s fuel, it grew in an instant, brightening the whole room.

“How extraordinary,” he murmured instinctively.

“A mere trick,” the old man replied, shaking his head and revealing his face in the newfound light. Noticing the youth’s bewilderment, he broke into a broad grin and teased in a hearty tone, “Did I scare you? Well, I suppose I do look the part of a demon in a play—no makeup required.”

“You...” Amy began, but hesitated.

“Yes,” the old man nodded without concern, “I am demonized.”

So it was, as expected. The youth was not particularly surprised. Even without seeing the withered face clearly in the flickering firelight, the faintly glowing jade eyes in the darkness easily linked the traveler who had crossed the Nameless Mist with those afflicted by chaotic demonization. Yet when hero and monster—two opposing ideas—overlap, people instinctively ignore the possibility.

After a brief silence to steady his turbulent thoughts, Amy gazed at the withered face marred and covered by black thorn-like markings, at the eyes gleaming with an unnatural glow, and gently asked, “Mr. Ignati, is this the aftermath of traversing the dark regions?”

“I dislike the term ‘aftermath,’” the aged traveler shook his head, then, stroking the scales that had grown near his chin, said with a hint of jest, “Personally, I prefer to call it a man’s scar.”

“That’s fair,” Amy responded, momentarily dazed before smiling wryly, “You are remarkably optimistic.”

“In truth, at my age, optimism comes naturally,” the old man waved his hand, his tone devoid of any bitterness. “With only a few good years left, most things that once mattered gradually lose their hold. So what if I’m demonized? No matter how my appearance changes, I remain myself. The blood of glory still flows in my veins. Since that is so, why should I care?”

“Mm…”

This topic was not for outsiders to intrude upon. The youth could only murmur vaguely, sitting obediently on the rickety wooden stool that threatened to break at any moment, a proper listener.

“Unfortunately, my awakening came too late,” the traveler who once challenged the Nameless Mist sighed, his mood suddenly sinking, voice growing somber. “It took me ten years to realize this, ten years to step out from the shadow of failure.”

“The shadow of failure?” Amy asked cautiously.

“My friends and I once sought Prometheus,” the old man said, giving the expected answer, the jade light in his eyes tinged with reminiscence. “But we failed. We lost each other in the vast darkness—perhaps by chance, perhaps inevitably. Along my journey, I gradually found their corpses. In the end, I alone survived, barely enduring through the endless night.”

The youth fell silent for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need for apology,” the aged traveler, lost in chaos, shook his head. “Even the deepest bonds fade with time. Honestly, my memories of them are so blurred now, I can hardly recall the pain I once felt.”

“Mm.” Unable to truly empathize, Amy could only reply quietly.

“At times, I cannot help but think—perhaps time is the greatest power in this world, greater even than chaos or order,” the old man’s voice paused here, as if tired, as if waiting for something—but in the end, he waited for nothing. After a brief breath, he continued, “But even I know this is an illusion—the illusion of mortals nearing the end of their journey.”

“Because—” He looked deeply at the youth, then placed a hand over his heart, declaring solemnly, “Chaos is as deep as the sea, but order… endures forever.”

Yet the old man’s profound conclusion did not move the youth. Amy merely watched him, gazing at that time-worn face, his black eyes flickering in the firelight, his thin lips curved in a faint arc, whispering to himself so softly that only he could hear, “Order endures forever… perhaps. But even the ancestors who brought the fire of order vanished into the depths of darkness, faded into the river of time. Is this so-called eternity not merely wishful thinking?”

Naturally, he did not let anyone hear his musings.

At the frontier of order illuminated by the fire, such thoughts were verging on blasphemy—if word ever got out, the swordsmen of the Order would surely come for him, perhaps even… the Grand Swordbearer.

To bear the sword is to bear the vow; this was no jest.

The Council, governed by the descendants of glory, held legislative and judicial power, but theirs was not supreme. On equal footing, or even subtly above, stood the Order's Ten Commandments—a customary law, simple and direct, far more so than the myriad statutes upheld by various factions. It required neither reason nor evidence; if a swordsman of the Order judged someone guilty, execution could be carried out on the spot—even those of noble blood were not exempt, for only the Grand Swordbearer could decide their fate.

The Order’s might was truly terrifying!

And—

Never would it compromise.

Recalling countless rumors about the Order, Amy narrowed his eyes slightly, but now was not the time to be troubled by such trivialities. After a brief pause to collect his thoughts, he looked at the aged face veined with black thorns, meeting those chilling jade eyes, and cut straight to the point: “The light of order endures, but this is not a given—it must be fought for. Frankly, I’ve come tonight to seek your guidance about the dark territories.”

“What are your intentions in learning these things?” the old man asked, unhurried.

“I may walk the same path as you one day,” the youth replied, his dark eyes flickering in the flame’s glow, “but mostly it is curiosity. The urge to explore the unknown is human nature. I want to know—what truly hides within that mist.”

“The ancestors once said a cat has nine lives, and also that curiosity killed the cat—meant to remind us of our own insignificance, ignorance, and fragility.” The old man shook his head, not answering directly. “Blind, foolish chaos—those are the very words the ancestors left to describe us. By not seeking to know it, by not seeking to understand this world, the fire of order will remain eternal.”

“But how can progress come from stagnation? To spend a lifetime confined to the Wall of Eternal Night—or rather, within the dwindling embers of the fire—those of us who claim to carry the ancestors’ will, how are we any different from prisoners?” Amy countered directly. He had no interest in becoming a wandering ghost in the darkness, but his curiosity about blind chaos and its derivatives was almost instinctive—sometimes he felt it was pathological, but given the peculiarities he’d shown since awareness, he thought little of it.

“To gaze upon forbidden secrets is to invite destruction,” the old man warned.

“But without understanding the Nameless Mist, without venturing into it, the lost royal city of Prometheus will forever be a flower in water, a moon in the mirror.” The youth was no fool; blind chaos was something even the ancestors feared, let alone him, whose blood was diluted.

The aged traveler was silent for a moment. “What do you wish to know?”

“Everything,” Amy answered. “Everything about the Nameless Mist.”

“Everything? There is no ‘everything’ when it comes to the secrets of chaos,” the old man shook his head. “Even I know but an iceberg’s tip of the Deepest Night.”

The Deepest Night—a term for the fallen zone within the Wall of Eternal Night, beyond the fire.

For there—

Light was lost.

“Even if, compared to chaos, this is but a trivial fragment,” the youth shifted his phrasing, his tone earnest and straightforward, “You are the most authoritative source; you yourself are a precious treasure of humanity.”

“Source?” The old man furrowed his brow at the unfamiliar word.

“Forgive me, did I say that?” Amy scratched his nose.

The stooped traveler shook his head, unconcerned by the youth’s slip. He simply looked at those dark, bright eyes and enunciated clearly, “I’ll ask one last time—do you truly insist on understanding the Nameless Mist, on venturing beyond order into that bizarre world?”

Amy did not answer, only met his gaze without yielding.

Silence. Silence yet again.

After a long while, the old man let out a deep, lingering sigh.